


Re-Created

by adobe_beforeffects



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, continues from canon so it's a branching AU, some light shipping but it's only subtext
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 14:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17562059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adobe_beforeffects/pseuds/adobe_beforeffects
Summary: After Joey passes away, Henry finds a way to make everyone look human again, one by one, using the Ink Machine. And this story is going to have a happy ending, even if he has to write it himself.(A Henry Saves Everyone AU)





	1. Chapter 1

“What do you mean, Joey is dead?”

“His apartment was partially cleaned out when I got there. And there was some paperwork from his will sitting on the table.”

Allison leans against the wooden slates covering his makeshift prison. While she and Tom had displayed their usual mistrust initially, Allison was already starting to warm up to him. “Well, that’s good, I guess. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“This… place, this studio, it’s not truly real. There’s something off about it. You can tell, can’t you?” Allison doesn’t respond, but the look on her face tells him enough.

“And whatever this place is, it needed Joey to make everything happen. Now that he’s gone, the whole story’s stopped. You haven’t seen the demon lately, have you?”

“No. Thankfully.”

“Usually it attacks me when I come in, but it wasn’t there this time. That’s how I was able to find you guys so quickly. And the story looping over and over is how I knew all of your names, and why those hidden messages are on the walls.”

Allison shakes her head. “I don’t know. All this talk about stories, and fake worlds - it’s a lot to take in.”

“I know.” Henry gets up, moving closer to the boards. “I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen the proof with my own eyes.” Allison leans in closer.

“So let’s say that all of this is true. What’s your plan?”

* * *

Tom and Allison had been arguing for several days straight now. Allison stands in front of the boards blocking Henry, sighing.

“Sorry. Tom doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Tom doesn’t think anything’s a good idea.”

Allison smiles at the statement. “True. He’s just… overprotective. Considering I was nearly dead when he found me I suppose that’s a good thing.”

She looks back at the far wall, which was increasing covered in various scribbles. “A way out?” one reads. “I want to be free,” another one states boldly. “It is pretty dangerous. We don’t even know if this will work.”

“I know. And I can’t promise anything. But I’ve read through Joey’s notes. You, everyone here… you were created by putting reels of film through the Machine, which gave you something to imprint on. So if we do the ritual again, but this time use your own letters and personal belongings with the correct intent-”

“I could be human again.” Allison touches the filed-down horns on her head.

“You’ll still be made of ink,” Henry reminds her. “But you won’t have to be Alice anymore.”

“I’m not sure if I know who I am if I’m not Alice.” Despite the concern in her voice, Henry can tell how exciting the idea was to her.

“Joey has lots of letters from you outside of the studio. I’d be happy to help you figure it out.”

* * *

“Tom, please.“ Tom crosses his arms, not budging. “I really think this will work. There’s something… different about him. He might be our ticket out of this place.”

Tom puts his remaining hand on her shoulder, concern in his eyes.

“I know it’s dangerous. But so is staying here forever! I don’t… I don’t want to sit here letting our only chance of freedom slip away. I’d rather take the risk then do nothing.” She places her hand over his, giving it a squeeze. 

He thinks about it for a moment, then nods.

“I’ll be fine,” Allison promises, even though she can’t prove it herself. She wipes away a black tear. “But please… please be there when we do the ritual, okay? I don’t want… I don’t want to be alone again.”

Tom nods again and pulls her into a hug.

* * *

“This is amazing,” Allison breathes, picking up a trinket from the near wall and studying the difference between her sketchy, sepia hand compared to its rich colors. “It feels so much more… real.”

“Weird, itsn’t it?” Henry doesn’t look up from the papers on the ground as he carefully sketches a few lines, checking it against Joey’s illustration. “You don’t even notice how fake everything is until you have something to compare it too.”

He finishes, wiping dust off his pants, then triple-checks the pentagram just to be safe. He passes Joey’s illustration to Tom, who compares the two carefully before finally giving a nod of approval. “We’re ready when you are.”

“I’m ready.” Allison sets back down the trinket, wringing her hands. “Just nervous.”

Henry wants to tell her everything will be okay, but he can’t be sure he can keep that promise. “Sorry. This won’t be pleasant, but if everything works out-”

“I know.” Allison takes a deep, shaky breath, then gives Tom a final hug. She steps forward into the circle - and immediately falls apart back into the ink she was made from. Tom lunges forward, trying to grab her as the Machine roars to life in the other room.

“Tom! Tom, it’s okay!” Henry yells, the din of the Ink Machine drowning out his voice. He had already went over this with him, but he doubted he was thinking clearly right now. He grabs at his arm, pointing to the garage, and Tom snaps back to attention. He takes off and Henry follows, barely catching his arm again as he reaches the doorway. “Don’t go in yet!” he yells over the noise. He wasn’t sure if touching the ink would hurt her, but he doesn’t want to take the chance.

Gallons upon gallons of ink are gushing from the Machine’s spicket, and there’s a struggling form underneath of it all. It pulls itself forward a few feet, and Henry stares, hypnotized. It was like watching someone mold clay - except there were no hands shaping the ink. It molds and shifts of its own accord, gaining detail, a form. The ink drips down and parts, revealing light brown skin, black hair - and no horns.

Henry lets Tom go and he rushes forward, pulling Allison in a hug. She doesn’t look that different, but her build is more natural-looking, and Henry’s years of anatomy practice tells him her face is more proportional as well. She’s smiling and sobbing at the same time, clinging to Tom like a lifeline. “I-It’s okay. I’m here,” she reassures him. 

Henry releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He smiles as he watches the two embrace, a new sense of determination filling him.

This was going to be a happy story, even if he had to write it himself.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” Allison shuffles some papers off the table and Henry takes a seat, tossing various notes from Joey down with a thud. “Long night, huh?”

“Joey’s always been a messy note taker. It’s hard to even figure out what he’s talking about sometimes.” 

A few minutes pass. Henry frowns. “You haven’t seen Boris lately, have you?”

Allison looks at him, confused. “You mean Tom?”

“No, not Tom. The actual Boris.”

“You mean the perfect one?”

“Yeah. Usually I’ve found him by this point, but we meet near the Music Department-”

“-and you haven’t gone down there yet,” she finishes for him. Henry nods.

“I’m just worried about him. It’s not safe here.”

Allison laughs slightly. “No kidding. I haven’t seen him, but I’ll keep a lookout. If he doesn’t show up soon we can always look for him ourselves.”

“Thanks.” He nods at her own stack of papers. “You find out anything interesting?”

“Kind of. It’s all just… a blur.” She picks up a letter, smiling. “I can’t believe Tom and I got married. The way the wedding’s described here - it sounds like a dream.”

“Well, maybe Tom will propose to you sometime. He clearly cares about you.”

Allison closes her eyes, mind clearly elsewhere as she rests her head against her fist. “He doesn’t seem like the type. Then again, who knows?”

She pulls herself out of her daydream. “Speaking of Tom… he told me he wants to try. The ritual, I mean.”

Henry sits up straighter, surprised. “I thought he hated me. And he seemed terrified when you…”

“He didn’t trust you, and he was worried about me. I think he only let me go through with it because he would feel guilty if it turned out it worked and he didn’t let me try.” She leans forward. “But now he knows it works, so he’s willing to give it a shot. Plus I think he feels a bit weird now that he knows what he used to look like.”

“I mean, as long as he’s okay with it. I can start getting everything together whenever he’s ready. Might take a few hours though.”

“I’ll let him know. I’m guessing he’ll want a little time to prepare anyway.”

Henry looks back down to the papers in front of him, scanning over the titles.

“FAILED ATTEMPTS” the sheet in front of him reads in Joey’s clean handwriting. The paper is an absolute mess, with entire sections scribbled out and sticky notes tacked all over it.

Henry tucks it back into the notebook. _I’ll read it later,_ he promises himself.

* * *

“You can’t just use the one you drew last time?” Allison asks, watching Henry work. Tom pretends to read one of the many newspapers lining Joey’s apartment, but watches him eagle-eyed over the top of the paper as he works.

“Ink has to be fresh,” he mumbles, focused on his work. He runs the brush over the taped-together papers, leaving a smooth black line in its wake.

“That should do it.” He checks Joey’s notes one more time, just to be sure. “Ready when you are.”

Tom stands up from the chair he had been sitting in, putting down his newspaper. He looks at the pentagram, flexes his robotic arm, then puts his remaining hand on Allison’s shoulder. He looks at her with a concerned expression.

“Henry? Can we have a few minutes alone?” she asks, putting her hand over his.

Henry smiles grimly. “Of course.” He leaves the room, catching them pulling into an embrace as he does so.

He sits back down at the kitchen table, looking at the various items he had found of Tom. It was mostly letters from Allison mentioning him, though one had included a photo of them on their wedding day. The man in the photo was short, with an equally short beard and a hardened look to his face. Despite his gruff appearance, he was beaming at the camera, his one remaining arm wrapped around Allison’s shoulders.

“Henry?”

He jumps, startled. It hadn’t felt like it had been very long. “Ready?”

Allison nods, wringing her hands. “As ready as we’ll ever be, I guess.”

They both walk back to the living room where Tom is pacing the floor. Allison approaches and whispers something to him, pulling him into a final hug.

They pull away after a moment and Tom moves to stand in front of the pentagram, staring at Henry. Henry nods, and Tom closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before stepping into it. Within seconds his form starts to melt away, the ink dispersing like foam on the sea.

“That’s supposed to happen, right?” Allison breathes. While she had remained confident before this point, she was now clutching her arm, looking more than slightly panicked. The Machine roars to life before Henry can respond.

“Wait at the door!” he reminds her, yelling over the noise. She stops at the doorway, clutching the frame. By the time Henry catches up there’s already a figure under the spicket, moving out from under the gushing ink. He coughs violently, wiping ink away to reveal the same face Henry had been studying in the photograph earlier. Allison approaches him slowly, as if she wasn’t sure it was him.

“Tom?” she asks. She reaches out her hand, then pauses. The man coughs again.

“…Allison?” he asks in a low, gravelly voice. Allison’s face lights up in recognition and she jumps forward, pulling him into an embrace as she starts to cry in relief.

“Calm down, calm down! You’re getting ink all over yourself!” he declares, laughing. He returns the hug, pulling her into a kiss. Henry slips into the room, handing him a towel as they pull away.

“Thanks.” Tom reaches out to take it, then stops mid-gesture, staring at his newly formed arm. “I thought this would still be gone.” He flexes it experimentally.

Henry shrugs. “This is mostly about intent, and I wanted you to have it back.”

“Thanks. Not just for the arm, I mean… for everything.” Tom takes the towel, wiping the excess ink off himself. 

Allison nudges him, grinning. “You’re smiling! I can’t remember the last time I saw you happy.”

Tom laughs. “Don’t get used to it.”

* * *

“I have a plan.”

Allison and Tom had taken a break from working on a broken ink maker. Tom looks at him from his spot on top of the bench and Allison leans against it,  grinning at the statement. “That’s a first.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but I’ll need your help.” Henry takes a deep breath. “I want to help everyone. I mean, as many people as I can, at least. All of this-” he gestures vaguely, “needs to end, and now we know how to do it.”

“Everyone here would try to kill you if given the chance,” Thomas reminds him. “Are you expecting to just walk up to them and ask them if they want to be human again?”

“We don’t need to approach anyone directly. We just need to explain how this works and have one of you show yourselves as proof. Anyone who wants to will show up, and-”

“-word will spread as more people change back,” Allison finishes for him.

“No offense Henry, but I don’t think the Searchers are going to be interested in having a nice little chat while they’re trying to rip our your heart.”

“I was thinking the Lost Ones, actually,” Henry muses. “Sammy’s still around, so they won’t attack us.”

“Sammy? That crazy cult leader? I don’t think that’s safe.” Allison crosses her arms, frowning as she thinks over it.

“He should still be in the Music Department right now, I think. That’s where he was during the last loop. And we don’t need to stay long - just long enough to explain what’s going on.”

Allison sighs. “I don’t like it, but I don’t think we have many other options. We can head over there tomorrow morning.”

* * *

They step off the boat and onto the pier. Henry watches as the giant hand slowly disappears back under the ink with a strange moaning sound. “What the hell is that thing?”

“There’s a hand like that in the Bendy Land development area,” Tom offers.

“But why is it alive?”

Tom shrugs.

“Let’s make this quick. I don’t like this place.” Allison rests her hand on the hilt of her sword, watching the nearby shanties suspiciously.

“Right. How do we get them to come out here?”

“We could knock on their doors.”

“That would take forever. Aren’t we trying to be quick?”

Tom brushes past them, stepping into the middle of the room. “ANYONE HERE?” he yells. The silence is quickly replaced with chatter as the Lost Ones start to emerge.

Allison shrugs. “That works.”

Henry clears his throat as the Lost Ones group around him. He had already went over his speech in his mind before, but actually giving it with a few dozen pairs of glowing eyes watching him was a different story. “Uh… hello. I’m Henry, and this is Allison and Tom. We, uh-”

“We have a way to free everyone,” Allison cuts in, glancing at Henry. He gives her a grateful nod in response. “Henry figured out how to do it using the Machine.”

An uneasy set of murmurs runs through the crowd.

“Who are they?” 

“Sammy said that only Bendy can free us…”

“What if they’re lying?”

“We’re not lying. How do you think Allison and I became human again?” Tom objects, stepping forward.

_“How do we know you were one of us to begin with?”_

Henry freezes.

A crack in a nearby house starts oozing ink, like a wound. The ink moves upward, shaping itself into something that looked vaguely like a person wearing suspenders and holding an axe. A grinning Bendy face stares at them.

“I thought you said Sammy wouldn’t be here,” Allison hisses. Henry looks at her helplessly.

“It is… rare that we get visitors down here. But I’m afraid we’re not interested in your offer. We have already found salvation in our Savior. Isn’t that right?”

A few soft murmurs of agreement come from the crowd of Lost Ones, who quickly part to make room for Sammy as he walks over.

“The Ink Demon’s not trying to save you, Sammy. He’d kill you if you ever met him face to face.” He has to resist adding “like he did before”.

Sammy suddenly reaches forward, grabbing Henry’s chin and tilting his head up. His hand is cold. “You look familiar to me. Have we met before?” He lets go before Allison has a chance to react, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is our Lord and his wishes.”

He turns to address the crowd. “These outsiders were sent here as a test, my sheep. Our Savior is testing us, to see if we will be so easily tempted away from his will. If you follow them, you will never be saved.” A few quiet agreements rise from the crowd.

“Listen, I don’t know what your deal is, but you have proof standing right in front of you that this works,” Tom snaps. Sammy turns around, ink dripping from his frame.

“Let’s assume that that you are telling the truth and that you are not simply outsiders that this man-” he gestures to Henry -”brought with him. You say that you are freed. And yet-”

Sammy raises the axe and slashes Tom with it before anyone can respond. The mechanic swears and places a hand over the wound, which is already seeping ink.

“Tom!” Allison rushes over, kneeling by his side and moving his hand aside to look at the wound. Tom mutters something about being fine, glaring at Sammy.

“Do you see, my sheep?” Sammy turns back to the crowd, raising his arms. “These people are still made of ink, just like us! Our Lord is the only one who can truly free us from this dark prison, and Our Lord is the only one who can restore our flesh and blood… May he forgive our sins one day. Can I get an amen?”

A chorus of soft “amens” arise from the crowd. Many of the Lost Ones were watching Sammy intently, but some of them were instead staring at Henry’s group, whispering to each other, glaring. The former curiosity they had shown earlier was quickly being replaced with skepticism.

“Henry, we need to leave. Now.” Allison puts a hand on Tom’s back and guides him to his feet, his wound already bandaged with some cloth from her dress.

“Right.” Henry turns his attention back to the crowd. “We’re leaving. If any of you are interested, we’re just down the river, past the boats.” They work their way back to the docks, the Lost Ones watching them.

“Goodbye, my sheep,” Sammy mutters as they leave. “Pray that our Lord does not find out about this.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure the dog’s down here?”

“He usually shows up near the Music Department.”

“But it’s been days,” Tom reminds him. “He’s probably already left at this point.”

Henry tries to ignore his increasing sense of dread. “Look, we’re already down here. Might as well look for him.”

“Sammy’ll show up any minute.” Tom hits his axe handle against his open palm.

Henry doesn’t have a rebuttal for that. “We’ll make it quick.” He nods at Tom’s hand, eager to change the subject. “How’s your arm been?”

Tom flexes it, his fingers closing slowly. “Beats that mechanical piece of shit. I think something’s wrong with the nerves though. It’s numb half the time, and it doesn’t move as easily as it should.”

Henry frowns. “Sorry. I could try-”

Tom brushes him off. “Don’t worry about it. It works well enough.”

They walk in awkward silence for a while, Henry trailing behind Tom. The animator stops as they walk past the infirmary. 

“We should look down here,” he points out. Tom returns to his side and peers into the darkness, gripping his axe tighter. 

“Why would the dog be down there?”

“See all that ink on the ground?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s ink everywhere.”

“No, I mean - usually this area is flooded, and I have to drain it. But it’s already been drained, and I don’t think Sammy goes down here often. Which means someone else has already been here.”

Tom grunts his approval. “Best lead we have, I guess.”

They make their way down into the infirmary, walking past the broken-down beds. Henry continues forward into the ink-flooded sewers, looking back at Tom.

“You coming?”

"I can’t go in there, remember? That stuff is instant death to anyone except you.” He backs up a few feet.

“I think that’s only because you were a cartoon. It’s like…” He pauses, trying to think about the best way to word his thoughts. “You were Boris, but you weren’t, so you weren’t very stable to begin with. But you’re not anything else now. You’re you.”

“And if you’re wrong, I’m dead.”

“Just put your hand in for a moment. That way you can pull it out if anything starts to happen.”

“I just got this hand back. I don’t want to lose it again.” He rubs his new arm as he speaks.

“I know. But how are you going to know if you’re immune if you don’t try?”

Tom sighs, slowly approaching the ink. He kneels down. “I hate your damn logic,” he grumbles, sticking it into the liquid.

A minute passes.

Nothing happens.

He slowly removes his hand, flexing it as the extra ink drips away. Henry grins at him.

“Fine. Don’t rub it in. Allison nearly died in this godforsaken stuff once, so I’m not exactly found of it.” He slowly eases himself into the ink. “And I can’t swim.”

“We’re just wading, don’t worry.” He starts down the hall and Tom begrudgingly follows, the sound of the splashing ink the only noise present in the tunnels.

They turn the corner, coming across a slew of awkwardly-placed boards. Something makes a moaning noise before disappearing into the ink beyond them, leaving the sewers to once again go silent.

“What the Hell?” Tom leans through the boards, looking at the spot where the Searcher had vanished.

Henry walks up beside him. “Sorry; I forgot you didn’t know. That thing’s always down here. It’s harmless, don’t worry.”

“Of course it’s harmless. The swollen ones can barely move. But why the Hell’s it down here?” Tom hacks away at the boards with his axe, clearing the area. They continue forward.

“Is that weird?”

“Searchers travel in packs, for one. And they avoid areas with high amounts of ink. They absorb it and it makes them all bloated like that.”

Henry shrugs. “I don’t know. It doesn’t leave this place even if I approach it.” They pass by Jack’s desk and Henry pauses, staring at the tape. 

“Hey, Tom? Are those Searcher things… people?”

Tom snorts. “You’ve been here God only knows how many times and you’re just now figuring that out? Of course they used to be humans. Everything in this studio was a person once.”

Henry continues to stare at the tape.

“No.”

“We can’t just leave him down here.”

“You don’t even know who he is.”

Henry nods towards the tape on the desk. “The man who recorded that… his name was Jack. He was talking about how he used to work down here, so that must be him. You said it yourself: Searchers wouldn’t be down here normally.”

Tom sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Listen, even if we wanted to try to wrangle him onto a pentagram, we don’t have the Machine properly set up yet.”

“Allison knows how to do it, doesn’t she?”

“And how is she supposed to know what we’re planning?”

A noise echoes in the empty chamber, interrupting them.

“Hold on.” Tom puts his arm out in front of Henry, studying the area cautiously. “Don’t move.”

Tom creeps forward against the sewer wall, slowly peering around the corner, axe raised. He swears, exasperated, then drops all sense of stealth and disappears around the bend. He comes back a second later, Boris in tow.

“This yours?” he asks sarcastically. Boris, who had been cowering slightly, perks up at the sight of Henry.

“Boris!” Henry nearly runs over, then forces himself to slow down. _He doesn’t remember you,_ he reminds himself. Still, the wolf looked happy to see him.

“There, we have the dog,” Thomas mutters, looking over his shoulder cautiously. “Let’s get out of here before that crazy cult asshole shows his face.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and help Allison with the setup? Boris and I can stay down here and help Jack.” Boris perks his ears up in curiosity.

“No offense, but the dog’s not exactly going to offer you much protection.”

“I can handle things myself. I’ve killed the Ink Demon a few hundred times by now. I think I can take on Sammy.”

Tom grunts. “Fine. Just be careful. Allison and I will stay by the Machine so the guy isn’t completely confused when he wakes up outside.”

“Thanks,” Henry offers, but Tom is already walking away. He turns to Boris.

“Okay buddy, we need to catch that ink… thing and get it into a circle on the ground. You want to help?”

Boris nods eagerly.

* * *

The wolf takes a running start towards the Searcher, only to crash head-first into the wall as it disappears back into the ink.

“You okay, buddy?” Henry asks as he slowly creeps up behind Jack, who had respawned near him. Boris nods, sticking out his tongue.

Henry leaps forward, and the Searcher moans unhappily, vanishing again and leaving Henry to fall face-first in the ink. He wipes the liquid away from his face and laughs, overtaken by how ridiculous this was. “Maybe we should try something else. Something less… painful.” Boris rubs the bump on his head, nodding.

_“And what would that be?”_

Henry freezes.

The ink near him bubbles and rises, forming into a vaguely human figure. “I don’t normally allow people to harass my sheep, you see.” An axe finishes forming in his hand and he runs his fingers against the handle. “But I must admit, I am… curious as to why you are so persistent about going against the will of our Lord.”

“So you… want to watch us change him back?” He slowly moves away from Sammy as he speaks, putting a hand on Boris’ back as the wolf cowers.

“There is no “back,” my sheep. Not without our savior. But if you insist on meddling… I will not stop you, for now.“ He lowers the axe, stepping backwards into the dark. Henry backs up, feeling throughly unnerved.

“All right, so…” Henry tries to ignore Sammy, focusing on Jack instead. “We can’t catch him, but we can get him to move other places… If we can’t move him into the pentagram… maybe we can get him to form on top of it.” He turns to Boris, pointing to the circle. “Think you can chase him in there?”

Boris’ ears perk up and he nods, looking at Jack, who’s repositioned himself a few feet away. Henry moves towards the Searcher and he respawns, now closer to the wolf. Boris creeps up behind him, Henry blocking off the area to the right, and Jack spawns to the left, closer to the symbol drawn on the ledge. They continue moving forward, the Searcher moving closer and closer to the pentagram. Sammy watches silently.

Henry takes one more step and Jack disappears, appearing again inside of the symbol. Henry holds out his arm to block Boris as the Searcher melts away with a final moan, leaving thick globs of ink behind.

“C’mon.” Henry takes off through the ink and Boris runs after him, grabbing a can of soup on the way out. Henry pauses, looking back at Sammy.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“It is… forbidden for us to leave the studio, my sheep. If this works - and I doubt it will - Jack will know where to find me.” Sammy melts back into the ink, vanishing into the abyss.

They keep running, through the Music Department and out the exit door. Boris freezes, looking around the room with his hand on his chin, clearly confused by the sudden realism.

“I’ll explain later, okay?” Henry offers. He continues forward and Boris follows him as they make their way into the garage, where the Ink Machine is quietly chugging away. Ink spills from the nozzle onto the ground.

Allison is kneeling on the floor, covered in ink. Tom is crouched down beside her, hand on her back.

There’s no one else in the room.

“Stein, what the hell was that?” Thomas demands, rising from the floor. Henry looks around in confusion.

“What do you mean? Where’s-?”

“He goddamn _melted,_ that’s what!” Tom snaps. Allison looks up.

“He was almost formed, and then he just started to-” She takes a deep breath. “He tried to reach for me, and I panicked and tried to grab him, and…” Tom goes back to her side, giving Henry one last glare.

“I don’t…” Henry looks at Boris helplessly, who looks back at him, equally lost. “I think-”

“You think what?” Thomas demands. Henry struggles to think of an answer. He feels numb, his thoughts jumbled.

”I think I need some time alone.”

* * *

_They didn’t form at all this time. May have to try again. Use thicker ink?_

“Henry?”

_Still better than the last attempt…_

“Henry.” Allison puts her hand on his shoulder and he jumps, not realizing she was there.

“Sorry.” He pushes Joey’s notes away. “Been trying to read over what Joey wrote, to see if there’s anything helpful.”

“And?”

“I don’t think Joey knew what he was doing any more than I do.” He buries his head in his hands, pressing them against his sore eyes. “I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“There’s someone here to see you.” She puts her hand on his back. “I can have them come back later, if you’d prefer-”

“No, it’s fine. I need a break.” He stands up and followers her to the door, where Tom is standing with an axe. A Lost One stands in the doorway, slouched over timidly.

“Hello?” Henry prompts. They look up, taking a step back.

“I… hello.” The voice sounds feminine. They glance at Tom’s axe anxiously. “I… uh-”

“Did you come to be remade?” Allison prompts, and the Lost One nods in relief. Allison motions for them to enter, and Tom begrudgingly moves aside.

“Sammy didn’t follow you here, did he?” Tom asks, looking outside before firmly closing the door. Allison motions for the Lost One to take a seat and they do so, shaking their head. “I abandoned the others a few days ago. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“He’ll find you soon enough,” Thomas growls. “He keeps tabs on all you, doesn’t he?”

“I-”

“It’s okay,” Allison reassures them, putting a hand on their arm, which leaves a slight dent in their ink. “Let’s just worry about you right now. You wanted to talk to Henry, right?”

They nod, turning towards Henry. “I… I want to be human again. I know I wouldn’t be free from the ink, and I know Sammy says it’s a sin, but-”

 They curl up on themselves, sounding like they were about to cry. “I want to know who I am. I want to remember things, and be able to rest without melting, and-” They look at Henry, voice cracking. “Please…”

Henry’s breath catches in his throat as he looks at their eyes, completely blank, yet still somehow sad. Allison’s words replay in his mind. _He tried to reach for me…_

“I can’t.”

He runs out of the room, leaving the crying Lost One in his wake.


	4. Chapter 4

Allison sits down beside Henry, perching on the edge of an old crate. “Hey.”

Henry closes his eyes, burying his face in his hands. “I’m an asshole,” he mutters.

“I already talked to the Lost One for you. They’re going to stay at the hideout with us for a bit while they work on figuring out who they are.” Allison places a hand on his back sympathetically. “But that’s not the only reason why you’re upset, is it?”

Henry sighs, lifting his head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to help however I can, but I feel like I’m just making things worse.”

“Henry, you  _saved_  us.”

He closes his eyes again. “I was reading over Joey’s notes the other day. On his failed attempts, I mean. There are so many reports about the cartoons not being able to stabilize… it was just luck that you didn’t end up like Jack.”

“But we didn’t.” Allison pulls away her hand, staring out into the river of ink before them. “Henry, we’ve been trapped here for years. The only thing that was keeping me going sometimes was telling myself that things would get better. It doesn’t matter if you fail sometimes. You give people hope, and that’s all they need right now.”

Henry continues to stare out into the ink. “I feel like I’m no better than Joey.”

“Joey didn’t ask before killing people,” she reminds him.

“I guess.”

Allison stares at him for a moment, waiting for a further response. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Why did you come back?” Henry turns to her. “You said Joey was gone when you went outside. Why didn’t you just leave?”

Henry stares at the sketch lines on his hand. “I don’t look like a real person. I’d be arrested or something if I tried to leave.”

“That’s not what I mean. You could have just came here and lived peacefully with Boris in the safehouse for eternity. Instead, you start trying to help everyone. So I’ll ask again: Henry, why are you here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it because you’re trying to fix Joey’s problems?”

Henry’s expression turns distasteful. “No. Joey’s problems are his own fault. Not mine.”

“So why are you here?” she demands. Henry stares at her as if about to argue, then stops, returning his gaze to the ink.

“I guess… I don’t care whose fault it is. I’d love to just stay with Boris, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t… sit there knowing everyone else was suffering.”

“So you’re not like Joey, after all.”

Henry finally smiles.

“No. I guess not.”

He slowly rises from the edge of the dock, running a hand through his hair. Allison gets up to stand by his side.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to find Jack and try again. It’s possible that the first time was just a fluke.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

Henry crosses his arms, newfound determination in his eyes.

“Then we’ll keep trying.”

* * *

They had found Jack back down in the flooded sewer, moaning softly. He was no longer a bloated mass off ink, but instead resembled the average Searcher crawling through the halls. Still, the hat was unmistakable. 

Henry kneels by the edge of the sewer, putting the finishing touches on a new pentagram. Boris watches him nonchalantly, eating a can of soup he had found somewhere. If Sammy was there, he wasn’t interested in showing himself.

“That should do it,” Henry mutters, and the Searcher rears up at the sound of his voice. Henry walks into his line of sight and Jack drops back down onto his hands, starting to crawl forward. Henry slowly steps backwards, towards the symbol.

“That’s right. We’re going to try one more time, okay?” He knows the Searcher can’t understand him, but talking helps soothe his nerves.

Henry side-steps the pentagram when he gets to it, continuing backwards until he’s standing behind it. The Searcher continues to crawl forward with a rasping noise, unaware of the symbol. As Jack moves over it he looses shape and melts away, the hat staying whole for a second longer before also dissolving. Henry swallows the lump in his throat.

“C’mon, Boris. Let’s go say hi,” he says with more confidence than he feels. Boris nods, and together they run through the department, the distance feeling longer than usual. When they reach the garage Henry stops a few feet short of the door.

“Out of breath,” he mutters, which is a lie as he was fairly certain he didn’t need to breathe at all. In reality, he simply didn’t want to find out what had happened. If he stayed out in the hall, he could pretend everything had gone smoothly.

But the moment can’t last, and he forces himself to walk through the doorway.

Tom is standing by the machine. Allison is kneeling on the floor, hand on someone’s back as they cough violently. They have a hat.

Jack’s coughing fit ceases and he looks around the room in bewilderment. He was overweight with a round face, and Henry’s pretty certain he can see a large bald spot underneath of his bowler hat.

“What? Where is-?”

“It’s okay,” Allison soothes. “I’m Allison, and this is Tom and Henry.”

Henry steps forward, relief sweeping over him like a wave on a beach. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Henry. Henry Stein.”

“I’m…” Jack’s voice trails off as he frowns, staring into space. He shakes his head. “I’m Jack. Nice to meet you.” He squints. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“We can talk more after you’re rested,” Allison interjects. Henry shoots her a grateful look. “Do you feel okay?”

“I- I think so. Maybe?” He puts his hands over his ears and slowly relaxes, shoulders slumping. “It’s so quiet,” he whispers.

“Here.” Tom walks over, offering a hand. The lyricist takes it, unsteadily rising to his feet. “It’s a long walk back to our hideout.”

“It would be nice to get the infirmary up and running again,” Henry muses. “It’s only a short walk from Joey’s back door.”

“Well, right now it’s full of ink and broken beds,” Tom mutters. Jack leans against him for support, already being overtaken by exhaustion, and Tom grunts under the weight. “Now stop talking and start walking.”

* * *

Henry returns to the hideout with a box full of Joey’s employee records to find Jack already awake again, talking to the Lost One, who seems somewhat spooked by his presence. They stop when Henry comes in.

“Hey there,” the animator greets as he sets down the box. “You doing alright?”

Jack takes off his hat, running his hand through his thinning hair. “I mean, I think so. Allison filled me on on the details, so, y’know, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Henry taps the cardboard box. “I brought some stuff over from Joey’s. You can look through it and see if there’s anything about your life outside. If you want to, of course,” he adds quickly.

“Yeah, that sounds… good. Thanks.” Jack shifts his weight uncomfortably, looking away.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just… my mind…” The lyricist goes silent for a moment, thinking of how to word his concerns. “It’s like… back in the ink, there were lots of other people, and your thoughts and everyone else’s thoughts were all mixed together. So now there’s suddenly no one else, and it’s kind of terrifying. Does that make sense?”

“No, I get it,” Henry reassures.

“But it’s more than that. I remember lots of things, but I don’t think they’re my memories. Like, I remember kissing at least three different people’s wives. Which I would never do,” he adds quickly, seeing the expression on Henry’s face, “because I’m not into woman. Uh- those types of woman, I mean. And I’m already married.” He holds up his hand, which sports a shiny yellow ring as proof.

“I didn’t even think about that. I guess when someone’s pulled out of the ink, it just retrieves whatever memories you have at the time, even if they’re not yours.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal. Anything’s better than that hellhole. I’m just… not really sure who I am right now, you know?” Jack gives a weak smile.

“If it helps, I don’t know anything about myself,” the Lost One offers. Henry forgot they were there for a moment.

“Speaking of which, Allison said she gave you a list of names to look over. Did you find any that feel right?”

“Maybe.” The Lost One gestures him over to the table, which is covered with several sheets of employee names and phone numbers. They point to one, a drop of ink falling from their finger and staining the paper. “Freddie Greenwalt,” it read.

“You sure?”

“I… no,” they confess. “But when I read that one, I got a flash of… something. It was the first time that’s ever happened to me.”

“As long as you’re happy with it. We can get you fixed up shortly, if that works for you.”

The Lost One nods. “Thank you,” they say softly.

“Henry,” Jack speaks up. “You said you wanted to get the infirmary up and running again, right? Because I’ve spent a lot of time there - head colds, you know. I was thinking I could go down there and clean the place up a bit, so everyone has somewhere to rest once they’re changed back. I could use something to do other than stare at the fish tank all day.”

“Sammy’s in that area a lot,” Henry warns. Jack just shrugs.

“I know his schedule. I won’t be down there when he’s down there.”

“Well if you’re okay with it, then it’s fine by me.” Henry turns his attention back to the Lost One, smiling. “Come on. You haven’t been outside yet.”

* * *

The next few weeks went by quickly. Freddie had turn out to be a young-looking person with short, dark hair who had wept uncontrollably after they had changed back. Afterward, they assigned themselves to assisting Jack with cleaning up the infirmary. Boris, when not playing cards with Henry, joined them in their scrubbing.

A few Lost Ones had slowly trickled in after Freddie, all equally anxious about the ritual. Each one was successfully recreated, with only a few minor deformities plaguing some of them. They hadn’t cared less.

“I thought there’d more of you,” Thomas had pointed out eventually. One of the Lost Ones, a quiet person with a deep voice, had spoken up.

“Sammy’s been preaching against you in his sermons. Anyone who would otherwise be interested is bein’ chased off by him.”

Thomas muttered something under his breath about Sammy being a bastard and left.

Henry, meanwhile, had found a message written close to their hideout, down close to the floor.

CAN YOU HELP US?

He hadn’t hesitated to respond.

YES


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“We’re not doing anything except going down to the Music Department,” Thomas points out. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“And visiting a sermon lead by a guy who wants to kill us,” Allison counters, placing her sword into its sheath.

“Listen, we either sit back and let Sammy keep ruining everyone’s lives, or we hear whatever crazy bullshit he has to say and see if there’s anything we can use to prove him wrong.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t think it was a good idea. I just said I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“So you think it is a good idea?”

“No.”

Tom lets out a snort of laughter and Allison smiles, then gazes down the hallway in anticipation.

“Shouldn’t we at least tell Henry?” she asks. They start down the stairs, Thomas leading.

“It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, if we tell him he’ll probably insist on coming with us, and we’d all be screwed if something happened to him.”

“And if something happens to us?”

Thomas doesn’t answer.

They arrive in the Music Department less than fifteen minutes later after traveling through a complex series of stairs and doors that Thomas could’t hope to understand. “How the hell do you remember where you’re going?”

“I’ve tried mapping this place before with no luck. You learn the layout of everything after a while, but it doesn’t connect logically, so- shh.” She holds out her hand, Thomas grumbling that he wasn’t saying anything. Sammy’s voice drifts down the hallway to the left.

“This way.” They move in the opposite direction, ducking down into an open area with a recording sign decorating the far wall, then into a larger room that was probably intended for a band back when the studio was still open. They slide into a nearby recording booth, ducking down behind the wall where the glass ended.

“I remember this!” Allison whispers, grinning excitedly. “I used to spend hours in here recording my lines. Sammy would stand nearby and complain about my pitch.”

“I’m sure you sounded wonderful,” Thomas whispers back with a smile. He motions for her to be quiet as the room starts to fill with voices. 

Allison peers over the ledge, watching as the once empty space suddenly becomes crowded. Inky figures appear, some entering through the door, some seeping out of the walls in a black mass. The recreated Lost Ones had claimed that Sammy announced the times of the sermons from within the ink, as it was near impossible to tell time in the studio. Apparently, everybody had gotten the message.

“There he is,” mutters Thomas as a black shape forms into something vaguely human-like up on the balcony above. Sammy clears his throat, and the crowd goes quiet.

“I’m glad to see you here, my sheep. As always, it is an honor to have so many attend our sermon. May those who don’t be shown mercy by our Savior.” His gaze sweeps over the crowd, expression unreadable due to the mask covering his face. A soft chorus of murmured agreements rise from the group.

“I’m sure you’re all well aware of the… issue of the false prophet, claiming he can free us from the ink.” Sammy leans forward on the balcony, resting his hands on the guard rail. Allison leans forward in anticipation.

“Remember, my sheep. The creatures this newcomer makes only  _look_ human. That is because only our Lord is capable of freeing us from the ink, restoring our bodies back to flesh and blood. If you follow the false prophet’s advice… that would be blasphemy, and your resulting sin would keep you from ever truly being saved. We must remain devout to our Savior and be patient… can I get an amen?”

A few “amens” rise from the gathered Lost Ones. Allison puts a hand on Tom’s shoulder and squeezes it, noticing the way his fist is clenched in anger.

“Furthermore, I have proof that the false prophet lives up to his title. He visited our humble Music Department the other day, claiming he could save Jack… I’m sure you’re all familiar with him at this point, correct?” Sammy pauses,waiting for confirmation, and a few people nod.

“I could not leave the studio to watch, for as we all know that would be against our Savior’s will. However, I did return to the dark abyss once more to see what had happened, and Jack was still there, lost to the ink. May our Lord have mercy on him.” Sammy turns towards the recording booth, and Allison feels her heartbeat pick up.

“Of course, if you still feel inclined to believe these lies, we have two visitors here that can offer some insight. Come on out, my sheep. I know you’re there.”

Allison feels a pit form in her stomach as turns to Tom. “How did he-?”

“Never mind that,” Tom growls. “What the hell are we going to do? There’s a lot more of them then I thought there would be.” He pulls his axe close to his chest, peering over the edge of the booth.

“Now, now. Come on out. We just want to talk,” Sammy calls. “Don’t make us force you out. The results could be…  _unpleasant.”_

“Let’s just go with it for right now,” Allison whispers, grabbing Tom’s arm. “We can make a run for it once we have an opening.”

Tom gives her a solemn nod and the two exit the booth, uncomfortably aware of the dozens of glowing eyes focused on them.

Sammy seeps down the edge of the balcony, reforming on the floor below as they approach. He beckons them over. “Leave your weapons on the ground, please. We don’t allow them during our sermons.”

Tom mutters some kind of insult and drops his axe on the ground. Allison follows, setting her sword down next to the axe considerably more gently.

“There. Now that we’re all situated, may I ask what brings you here? I doubt you’ve come to worship the savior like the rest of us. Or, perhaps, you’re merely here to spy?”

Neither of them speak.

“That’s what I thought.” He leans in close to Allison. “Do I know you? You seem familiar…”

“We used to work together, remember? I took over Susie’s role as Alice. I used to  _be_  Alice,” Allison mutters in a reserved tone, subtly glancing at the exit. The Lost Ones were scattered haphazardly around the room, and a few Searchers had spawned at some point. They’d have to fight through at least twenty or so of them to get to the door, and that wasn’t counting the ones who would inevitably pursue.

“That’s right, I remember now! You always had a lovely voice.” Sammy leans in, mere inches from her face. Tom grabs her and pulls her away, looking like he was about to punch the music director any second now.

“Easy, now. I’ll let you go… if you do one thing first.”

“What makes you think you get to bargain?” Tom snaps. Sammy turns towards him, ink dripping from his form.

“What do you want?” Allison asks, stepping in front of Tom before he can say anything else that might put them in jeopardy.

“Simply admit that the false prophet did nothing to save you, and that he can’t do anything to save us. Admit your sins before the Lord, so that you can be forgiven for them.” A Bendy cutout stares at then unnervingly from the corner.

“I…” Allison glances at Tom, who had wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. “I… confess. Henry didn’t do anything to save us.” The words feel bitter on her tongue.

“That’s right. Thank you for confession, and may our Lord have mercy on you.” He motions two Lost Ones from the crowd forward. “Please, escort these two back to the upper levels. We’ll be holding onto the weapons, just to make sure you don’t try anything.”

They walk in silence out of the department.

Tom waits until they’re out of earshot to speak. “I’m going to goddamn kill him,” he mutters.

* * *

There’s a chattering noise coming from outside.

“Easy, buddy,” Henry murmurs, standing up from the table where his drawings are. He eyes the door warily. “I’ll go take care of it.”

Allison and Tom had left to pick up supplies a while ago, and the other former Lost Ones had left the hideout to work on clearing out some suitable living spaces in the lower levels, as the small room was getting overcrowded. He was alone save for Boris, who, judging by the way he was currently cowering in the corner, wasn’t going to be much help in a fight.

He grabs a pipe wrench off the table and ducks down by the base of the makeshift door, which was really just a large plank of wood leaning up against the open frame. He nudges it forward, peeking around the edge. A single Butcher Gang member - one of the Pipers - stands in the hall, making a strange garbled noise. Henry expects it to attack, but instead it just stares.

_“Help,”_  it finally manages to say.  _“Me?”_

“You want me… to hep you?” Henry repeats, not sure if heard that correctly. The creature nods. Henry hesitates, glancing back at the still-cowing Boris, who had climbed on top of the chair for safety. He was so used to seeing the cartoons as enemies that it was hard to remember that they must have been people too, if what Tom said was to be believed.

“Wait. That message.” He nods to the writing near the bottom of the nearby wall, asking for help. “Did you leave that?”

_“Of course,”_ it rasps, the noise mostly a mess of garbled syllables.  _“Who did you think?”  
_

Henry glances back to the hideout one more time before making his decision. “Okay. You can come in. But you have to leave the wrench here.” He nudges the wood open the rest of the way and the Piper slips through the entranceway, obediently dropping the weapon on the ground.

“It’s okay Boris,” Henry calls, pulling the door back into place. “He won’t hurt you. I think.” The wolf slowly uncovers his eyes and sniffs at the newcomer, but doesn’t dare to get down from the chair. Charley drags himself slowly to the far wall, collapsing against it with a light thud. He breathes with an awful rasping sound.

“Are you… okay? You seem hurt.”

_“Always hurt,”_  the creature snaps.

“Right,” Henry says, not entirely sure how to respond. “Well, Allison and Tom are out. We’ll need to wait until they get back to get things set up. In the meantime, we can at least figure out who you are-”

_“Shawn,”_ the Piper rasps between labored breaths, sitting up straight to stare at him with half blind eyes.

“Wait, you mean like the guy who worked in the toy department?” He had never meet the man, but he had learned about him through the tapes and Joey’s notes. “Shawn… Foley?”

_“Flynn,_ ” the cartoon corrects. Now that he thought about it, the creature did seem to have an accent underneath of the garbled tones. 

“Well… that’s one mystery solved, I guess. Now we just have to wait for Allison and Tom to get back.”

There’s a knock on the makeshift door.

* * *

“Wow,” is all Henry can say after the two have finished explaining. “You guys aren’t hurt, right?”

“Thankfully not,” Allison mutters. “Sorry. It was a pretty stupid plan in hindsight.”

“It would’ve worked fine if Sammy didn’t see us,” Tom mutters. Allison shoots him a look.

“Did you find out anything useful, at least?”

“Not really. He just talked about how you can’t be trusted because you can’t actually free us from the ink. Which isn’t true,” she adds quickly, noticing the expression on Henry’s face.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah… he mentioned that Jack guy. Used him as an example of how you can’t save people very well,” Thomas muses. Henry swears softly. 

“What?”

“Sammy said that Jack knew where to find him once he was remade, but that was the first attempt. After all of the chaos I completely forgot to tell Jack to go back and talk to him.”

“No wonder he thinks you’re a failure,” Alice muses, leaning back in her chair. “Do you think Sammy will change his mind if he sees him now?”

“I have no idea. Can’t hurt to try, I suppose.” Henry’s gaze drifts back to Charley, who had procured a needle and thread from somewhere and was now stitching one of the many holes in his side shut. Tom follows his gaze.

“So you want to tell us why you let that thing in here?” he asks, clearly not happy about the arrangement. The Piper emits a low warning snarl at the word  “thing”.

Henry briefly goes back over what Shawn had told him. “I figured we should help him too,” he says in a low voice, keeping his eye on the Piper as he speaks. “It’s not really fair to leave them out, especially if they were once human. Even if they keep attacking us.”

“Look, I respect what you’re trying to do here, but those things are dangerous. You’re going to get yourself killed one day letting every sorry soul who shows up at the door in here.”

“So you won’t help?”

Tom averts eye contact. “I didn’t say that.”

“We can go get the Machine prepped while you get the ritual set up,” Allison offers. Henry nods and utters a quick thanks as the two get up to leave. Allison walks out, but Tom stays behind, motioning Henry into the corner.

“I don’t mean to stick my nose in places it shouldn’t be, but I figured it was worth asking,” he intones in a low voice, grabbing a nearby chair to sit in. “When are you going to change the dog back?”

Henry looks back at the table. Charley had finished with his impromptu stitching and had joined Boris, who was happily lounging on one of the many cots. The wolf sniffs at him cautiously for a moment, then moves aside to let the other cartoon join him. “You mean Boris?”

“I keep expecting you to announce that he’s next, but instead you keep ignoring him completely. I mean, have you even talked to him about it?”

“I mean- no, I haven’t. I didn’t realize…” He looks back at Boris, feeling unnerved. With the others, it was obvious they were once human - you could see it in their off-model designs, in how out of character they acted. Boris just seemed like Boris.

“How many times do have to tell you this before you get it? Every living thing in this studio used to be human. That includes him.” Tom crosses his arms.

“I… guess we could try something. We’d need to figure out who he was first-”

“He’s Franks,” Thomas interjects. Henry stares at him dumbly.

“You mean the janitor? How can you-?”

“I have my ways of knowing, all right? Besides, you can tell just by looking at him. Kid was always a dumbass.” There’s a strange, evasive tone to Thomas’ voice.

Henry opens his mouth, then closes it agin, struggling to find the right words. “I’ll talk to him about it,” he finally finds himself saying.

“Good. Let me know how it goes.” Thomas pushes the chair back with a screech and leaves, taking a toolbox with him. Henry sits there for a while, thinking, then goes over to Boris and gives him a gentle scratch on the nose.

“Hey buddy. You want to play rummy? I’ll deal. Shawn, you can join us if you want.” Boris nods his approval and Charley falls off the cot, stumbling over to the table with them.

He wasn’t lying. He would talk to Boris, of course.

Later.


	6. Chapter 6

Shawn emerges from the ink, coughing violently before uttering a string of Irish words that were probably swears of some kind. He finally settles on a much more understandable “son of a bitch.”

“Are you okay?” Allison asks gently. The answer to the question is pretty obvious - the toymaker is still missing an arm and an eye, and parts of his body are an inky black color instead of the sepia tones the rest of his skin displays. He coughs up a few more drops of ink.

“I’m just peachy, lassie! It’s not like I needed this arm or anything!” he wheezes. There’s a frantic, fearful edge to his voice.

“Seriously,  _calm the hell down,_ ” Thomas snaps. “The worst of it’s over. Stop it.”

Shawn looks as if he’s about to argue, but he instead leans back, taking a few shaky breaths. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just- sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know what it’s like,” Allison reassures him, taking a look at his black hand, which seems to be seeping ink. “You might need to put thick ink on this periodically. Otherwise it might melt away over time.”

“Henry,” he calls, acknowledging the other man for the first time since he had entered the room. “You said we could try again if we be wanting to, right?”

“I guess. It has the same risks as the first attempt though. You could end up worse, or not form at all.” Saying it out loud sends a stab of guilt through his chest.  _Is this really the best you can do?_

“I want to try again, then. I didn’t go through all of that to still be missin’ half me limbs. That’s like lettin’ Joey win.”

“You have to rest for a while first,” Allison interjects. “You’ll want to be at full strength if you’re going to reform again.”

“I don’t need to rest,” he mumbles. He stands up and nearly collapses from the effort, Allison catching him before he can hit the ground. “Then again, maybe a quick nap wouldn’t hurt,” he adds.

“I’ll come with you. I haven’t been to the infirmary since Jack and the others cleaned it up,” Henry offers. Allison looks over at Thomas, who’s shutting down the ink flow from the nozzle of the machine.

“Tom, do you want to come? You haven’t seen the infirmary yet.”

“Pass. I need to clean this up.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the machine as he speaks.

Allison shrugs under Shawn’s weight, and the three leave through the back door.

“Got someone else?” Jack asks, looking up from his magazine. The infirmary was already looking better - the “not sick, not paid” sign above the entranceway had been pulled down and most of the ink had been scrubbed from the floors, making it almost look like it did during the studio’s heyday. A few makeshift cots have been set up on the previously empty bed frames, made out of various cushions from sofas and chairs.

“Jack, this is Shawn. Shawn, Jack,” Henry introduces. Jack tips his hat in greeting and Shawn mumbles a hello, clearly struggling to stay conscious.

“You can lie down on any of the empty beds. I’ll get some ink for your arm there,” the lyricist offers, nodding towards the black limb. The beds are mostly empty, save for two employees reading magazines. Allison leads Shawn to the nearest one and he sits down on the edge of it, head drooping.

“Henry, before you go,” he calls, shaking his head in an attempt to stay awake. “I have some other people you need to be helping.”

“Uh- okay. Who?” Henry asks, already feeling like he knows the answer.

“The others.”

“Others?” 

“The rest of my - the gang. Our Barley - her name’s Lacie - she wouldn’t come because she doesn’t trust anyone anymore, but she might be convinced if she sees me now. And our Edgar is…”

“Hesitant?”

_“Crazy,”_ he corrects. “I don’t know if you can get through to him or not. He’s a few drops short of a full bucket of ink, if you get what I’m saying.”

“All right. Rest up for now, and come back to the hideout once you’re ready. We’ll go and talk to them then.” Shawn nods and lies down, stretching out on the cot.

“Jack,” he calls, the lyricist looking up from the drawer he was rummaging through. He walks over, a jar of thick ink under his arm.

“Yeah?”

“I forgot to tell you earlier. Back when I first… uh,  _found_ you, Sammy said he wanted you to come see him after the ritual. He wants proof that we’re not lying.”

Jack shifts his weight uncomfortably. “I don’t know, Henry. Sammy and I used to be pals, but that was before he took a high dive off the deep end of the sanity board. I’m not really comfortable going near him again.”

“He keeps chasing everyone else away who might be interested. If you used to be friends, then he might believe you,” Allison prompts. Jack looks at the floor.

“I guess, but…”

“What if Tom comes with you?” Henry offers. “He’s killed Sammy plenty of times before. You’d be safe with him.” Jack looks away, thinking.

“Yeah, that could work. All right,” he decides. “Knowing Sammy, he’ll be in the village tomorrow morning. We can try then.”

“I’ll let Tom know. Thanks, Jack,” Allison states, smiling. She rejoins Henry, and they both go to leave.

“Take care,” Jack calls, and there’s only a little bit of hesitation in his voice.

* * *

There’s a knock on the door.

“Henry?” Shawn’s accent is unmistakable.

“Coming.” Henry stands up from the floor, wiping ink off on his pants. Boris had apparently grown bored of lounging around all day and had opted to clean the hideout, starting with the floorboards. Henry had joined him, feeling that it was only fair he helped, and they had spent the afternoon scrubbing. He shoves thoughts about Wally away and opens the makeshift door.

“Top of the mornin’ to you!” he greets, laughing. “I used to come into work and yell that at the others in the toyshop in the early mornin’, just to annoy ‘em. They hated me for it.”

“You look better,” Henry offers. The toymaker had cleaned the remaining ink off his face and clothes, and his black arm was no longer dripping.

“I still look like a corpse,” he corrects, entering the hideout, “but a  _clean_  corpse.” He stares at Boris for a moment, then averts his eye.

“I was thinkin’ about what job I could do. You know, to help everyone out. And I was thinkin’ I could make things. The old toyshop - we used to make dolls there, but I could make other things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you be needin’. New floorboards, weapons, magazines. I could even make him a bone,” he says, thrusting a thumb at the wolf, who perks up at the mention of his favorite treat.

“I used to have a sword, but I lost it a while back,” Allison speaks up. Tom had left to repair a faulty pipe down the hall, so she was the only other one there. “Would it be possible for you to make me a new one?”

“Get the old toyshop fixed up and I can make you anythin’ you want,” Shawn boasts. Henry nods.

“That would be great. Let’s go talk to the rest of your gang, and later today I’ll clear out the Searchers down there. We can probably recruit some of the others to get the ink cleaned up afterward.”

“Do you want me to come?” Allison asks. Henry shakes his head.

“I’d feel better if you stay here with Boris. Besides, it shouldn’t be that risky.”

* * *

“You know how you were sayin’ it might not be that risky? That might be a bit optimistic,” Shawn admits. He kneels down near a pile of loose boards, moving one of them aside to reveal a dark passageway.

“Are they dangerous?” Henry asks, kneeling down to crawl into the tiny space. As claustrophobic as it was, it was better than being out in the open in the angel’s territory.

“Our Edgar  - Grant - he’s all funny in the head. I’m never sure how he’s going to act. Lacie’s usually okay, but she’s been slipping up lately.” They reach the end of the passage, revealing a sheet of wood that Shawn nudges aside. “Don’t worry, I’ll be keepin’ you safe.”

The room inside - if you could even call it that - is small and dingy. Ink seeps from the ceiling, and the space is almost completely devoid of any furniture save for a single workbench pushed against the far wall. Boards section off another room at the back, and empty soup cans litter the floor.

“Hold on.” Shawn holds his arm out, blocking Henry from entering the space. A Fisher stands in the middle of the room, head swinging from side to side, a wrench in its hand. It lets out a low, guttural growl.

“Hey, Lacie girl. It’s me, Shawn. You recognize me, don’t you?” The Fisher lets out another feral-sounding snarl, taking a step forward. 

“Is she okay?” Henry asks, backing up in the tunnel.

“She gets in these moods sometimes and doesn’t recognize things - look at me, Lacie,” he interjects, noticing the Fisher taking another step forward. “Wake up!”

Slowly, gradually, the creature’s snarls quiet. She steps back, silently setting the wrench back on the workbench.

“Good lord girl, don’t scare me like that,” he mutters, turning back to the animator. “Henry, you can come in now.”

_Do I really want to?_  Henry wonders, but never the less crawls through into the tiny room. Lacie sits down against the wall, staring at him.

“Lacie, this is Henry. He’s the one who helped me.” Shawn nudges him forward and Henry shifts uncomfortably, wishing he had brought a weapon.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” Lacie doesn’t move, but continues to stare at him. He fidgets, unnerved.

“You said the other one was with you, right? Edgar?” Henry asks, trying to distract himself from the Fisher’s gaze.

“He’s probably in the back,” Shawn says, motioning him to the boarded up room. “We toss him in here sometimes when he’s actin’ all crazy, to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Henry walks up to the boards, squinting. It was almost pitch black inside of the room. As his eyes adjust, he realizes that it’s not dark, but that the walls are covered in black ink. A few gaps in the black reveal the yellow color of the boards, and with a start he realizes what he was looking at - writing. There was writing covering every wall in the room, repeated so many times that it had become completely illegible.

He scans the room one more time, this time noticing a small black-and-yellow figure huddled in the corner, camouflaged amongst the ink. It lies there, motionless. “Hello?”

Henry stumbles backwards at the last second, falling onto his backside to narrowly avoid the creature’s extending arm as it lunges at him through the boards. It lets out a snarl, retreating back into the darkness.

“Jesus Christ. Sorry, I didn’t think he’d be grabbin’ for you like that,” Shawn apologizes, offering the animator a hand. Henry stands and dusts himself off, ignoring the pain in his tailbone.

“It’s fine.” He moves back to the boards, slower this time. The creature is pacing around inside on all five limbs, emitting a strange whimpering sound. It abruptly stands back up, clawing at the inside of the mouth on its head. “You weren’t kidding about him being crazy.”

“He’s not always like this. We put him in here until he calms down, and let him out after. Keeps him from attackin’ us.”

“Grant,” Henry whispers, and the Striker sits bolt upright, staring at him with an unnervingly human eye. “It’s me, Henry. We used to work together, remember?”

The creature stares at him, the teeth on its head chattering uneasily. It whimpers something that might have been an attempt at saying his name.

“That’s right. I’m going to try to help you, okay? It’ll be okay,” he soothes. The Striker doesn’t respond, and he quickly steps away from the boards before it has another change to lunge for him.

“You’re a goddamn miracle worker, you know that?” Shawn muses. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Henry says, smiling regardless. He turns his attention back to Lacie. The Fisher hadn’t moved an inch, but had flipped her head around her right side to continue to stare at him.

“Lacie, I’m going to be doing the thingamabob with the circles again later today,” Shawn announces. Henry doesn’t bother to correct him on the proper terminology. “Why don’t you come and watch? Then you’ll know he’s tellin’ the truth.”

_“Don’t go back into the ink,”_ the Fisher whispers, Henry jumping slightly at the unexpected sound. It was a deep, echoey noise, one that didn’t sound even remotely human. _“You won’t come back out.”_

“Lacie, don’t be like that. I got out the first time, didn’t I? Otherwise I wouldn’t be standin’ here in front of you,” Shawn argues. “Besides, we leave the studio to do it. You said you were wantin’ to see color again, right?”

“You don’t have to watch the entire thing if you don’t want to,” Henry offers, noticing her hesitation. She turns her head with her hand, once again staring at him.  _What does she see?,_ he wonders, fidgeting uncomfortably.

_“Fine,”_  she finally utters, slowly rising from her spot against the wall.

“That’a girl!” the toymaker cheers. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before the angel starts snoopin’ around the place.”

“Before we go,” Henry starts, looking back to the boarded-up room, “Can we let him out?”

“I mean… I guess. He might bite you though,” Shawn warns. Henry shakes his head.

“That’s fine. You two go ahead. I’ll get the boards open.”

Shawn shrugs and disappears through the tiny entranceway, Lacie following suit. Henry walks back over to the boards, peering inside the room. The Striker is once again curled up in the corner, though this time he lifts his head as the man approaches.

“We have a hideout down on floor B, not far away from the river. When you’re ready, come and see us,” Henry offers, carefully lifting one of the boards that wasn’t nailed down out of the way, creating a hole near the bottom. He backs up quickly and heads for the exit, looking back just in time to see the spider scampering out from the room.

He stretches as he crawls out from the passageway, cracking his back uncomfortably.

_“I see you there, my little errand boy.”_

Henry freezes.

“What do you want?” he asks cautiously, looking around the hallway. There was no immediate sign of the angel, nor of Shawn and Lacie.

“I’ve been watching your progress. I just wanted to thank you for getting rid of that imposter. She was never meant to be an  _angel_ anyway.”

“Allison?”

“She really should thank you. I was going to tear her to pieces, but now I don’t need to. Though maybe… I still will. I can always use an extra heart, after all.” Alice laughs, a deep throaty sound. 

Henry forces himself to keep a straight face.  _Ignore her. She’s toying with you._  He keeps walking, focusing on navigating through the winding halls.

“Or perhaps I’ll just pay poor old Boris a visit. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some company, seeing as you’re always leaving him alone.”

“Stop it,” he blurts out, forgetting his plan. “Why are you doing this? You have nothing to gain.” He enters the stairwell and walks as quickly as possible, not even considering the elevator as an option. “Is it because… do you want me to help you?”

“Oh no. Unlike that… _imposter,_  I am a true angel. I’m not meant to walk among mortals. Isn’t that right, Susie?” She laughs again.

“So why are you-?” He exits the stairwell and practically runs through the double doors ahead, desperate to get out of the angel’s territory.

“I’ll spell this out for you, as you don’t seem to get it. Stay out of my domain, and stay away from my prey.”

The doors slam shut behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

“On the count of three.” Shawn counts under his breath, but doesn’t move from his spot at the edge of the pentagram when he reaches the number.

“I thought you said on three.”

“I know! Now quiet. You’re makin’ me loose me concentration.” Shawn continues to stare at the symbol, unmoving.

“Take your time. I know it’s hard to go through.”

“I don’t  _need_  any time. I told you, I’m ready whenever.” The Irishman takes a step forward, then backs up again, swearing softly. He looks around the room. “And where the Hell did Lacie go? Kind of defeats the whole idea if she doesn’t bother to watch.”

A quick glance around the room confirms the Fisher’s absence. “I’ll go look for her.”

Shawn sighs in exasperation, stepping back from the pentagram again. “I wouldn’t bother. She’s probably more freaked out than I am about this whole thing.”

“So you are freaked out.”

“Shut up. Anyway, Lacie…” Shawn pauses, stroking his beard. “Lacie claims she remembers things. Says she remembers color and the studio bein’ open and whatnot. I always figured she was crazy, but then I heard what you were doin’ and…”

Henry glances back to where Lacie had been a moment ago. “So you think she remembers being…?” He can’t quite bring himself to say the word “sacrificed.”

“That’s what she claims. I didn’t believe her back then, but if she was right about the color and all that, then she might’ve been tellin’ the truth.” He makes a disgruntled noise, crossing his arms. “Tell you what. Hunt her down and tell her to meet me by the Machine. That way she doesn’t have to look at any of your freaky symbols.”

Henry debates on correcting Shawn on the proper terminology, then gives up and leaves him standing by the pentagram. He finds Lacie near Joey’s bookshelves, threading a bright purple ribbon through her fingers. She swings her head around, growling as he approaches.

“Shawn wants you to come watch. You can stay in the garage, if it makes you feel more comfortable.” Henry nods towards the ribbon. “You can keep that if you like. Not like Joey’s going to use it.”

She stares at him for a moment before turning away, pocketing the ribbon as the Ink Machine starts up.

“Guess Shawn finally went through with it,” he mutters to himself, starting his jog over to the garage. For a second it looks as if the Fisher isn’t going to follow, but soon he can hear footsteps from behind him. When they get there she stops at the doorway, evidently having gone as far as she was willing.

“Should we do something?” Allison calls over the roar of the Machine. There’s a pile of ink underneath of the Machine’s spigot in the vague shape of a person - Henry can see the start of something that looked like arms and a torso, but the figure doesn’t seem to be progressing any more than that. Henry shakes his head, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that was trying to settle over him. There was nothing they could do, really, other than wait. 

He glances back towards the doorway, but Lacie has already vanished.

It feels like forever before the ink finally starts to refine itself with more detail - hair, the wrinkles of clothes, individual fingers and facial features. Henry moves forward and cautiously offers a hand, Shawn taking it as the ink on his arm parts to reveal light yellowish-brown skin.

“You okay?” Henry asks as Tom powers down the Machine.

Shawn coughs a few times as Allison comes over. “I’m fine! I’m fine. Stop crowdin’ me. Christ, one little holdup and you all come swarmin’ over like a bunch of flies,” he complains, clinging to Henry’s arm like his life depended on it.

“That was stupid,” Allison scolds, giving him a once-over. “You almost didn’t get out of the ink at all.”

“But I did,” Shawn insists, holding up his newly-formed limb. “And besides, look, me arm’s fixed! Lacie, back me up on this.” He looks around the room expectantly. “Lacie?”

Henry looks back to where the Fisher had been standing. “She was here. She left sometime while you were still forming.”

“Then find her and tell her I’m okay! I’d do it myself if I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out.”

“Allison, Tom, can you take him to the infirmary for me? I’ll look for Lacie and meet you down there after.” Henry practically pours the man off his shoulder and onto Tom, who grunts under his weight.

He locates Lacie within minutes - she hadn’t gone very far, merely moving from the garage into the bedroom. She’s standing so motionless he would’ve missed her entirely if he wasn’t looking.

“Hey, Shawn’s-”

The Fisher lets out a feral-sounding snarl, swinging her head backwards to look at him.

“Lacie?” he asks, backing up towards the door. The creature takes another step towards him, making a strange garbled sound. It was like the first time they had met - except this time, Shawn wasn’t there to help.

“Shawn’s okay,” he says slowly, taking a step back towards the door as Lacie takes another step forward. He scans the room for a weapon out of the corner of his eye but it’s mostly empty, save for a hat rack in the corner and a framed photograph on a nearby nightstand. He had killed dozens of Fishers before, but taking one down without a weapon was another thing entirely. “Can you understand me?”

_“Liar,”_  she rasps.

He slams the door shut at the last second, a heavy thud resounding from the other side as the creature’s head strikes the wood. For a second he wonders if he should shove something under the knob, then decides against it. She would still need to be able to leave once she was lucid again.

“Shawn’s okay,” he repeats, just to make sure she hears it. Then he turns and flees back into the studio before she has time to open the door.

* * *

"Do you think she’s actually aware of what’s going on?” Allison asks, shoving the makeshift door aside. They had met with Henry in the infirmary a few hours ago, talking about what had happened while Shawn slept sprawled-out on a nearby cot.

“Who knows? It’s impossible to tell what those things are thinking,” Tom growls, nudging the door back in place with the head of his axe. A loud snarl interrupts their conversation.

"Oh- uh, hello, Lacie. When did you get back?” Allison asks, setting her wrench on the work table awkwardly. Lacie stares at her silently from her spot on top of the far cot, then swings her head back around to face Thomas, snarling again.

“Tom, what did you do?” Allison whispers, grabbing his arm.

“I didn’t do anything,” he grumbles, but his tense posture and narrowed gaze suggests he knows otherwise.

“You insulted her. Why else would she be making that noise?” The Fisher stands up from the bed, head swinging loftily.

“How should I know? Maybe she’s just loosing consciousness again. What is that, the third time this week?” He says it like he’s talking to Allison, but he’s still glowering at Lacie, as if challenging her.

“Tom,” she warns.

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? Sooner or later she’ll just forget everything. If she’s not going to even try to do anything about it, then I don’t feel like waiting around just to be attacked.” He draws his axe up into both hands as the Fisher makes a guttural noise.

“Tom!”

Lacie rushes forward to attack as he raises the axe-

“BOTH OF YOU, STOP IT!” Allison commands, throwing herself between them. Lacie stops short and Thomas takes a step back as he allows the axe to fall back to his side. “Tom, you need to leave.”

He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again as Allison gives him a stern look. He grumbles something under his breath, storming off and roughly pulling the makeshift door closed behind him.

“Lacie, go-” Allison starts, but Lacie has already retreated back to the cot, sitting with her back to the actress.

“Sorry we’re late. Boris wanted soup.” Henry pushes his way through the doorway, Boris’ snout appearing over his shoulder. “Is everything okay? We passed Tom in the hallway and he seemed angry. More than usual, I mean.”

Allison shakes her head. “Lacie and him had a bit of an argument, and Tom said some things he shouldn’t have. He can be a bit harsh sometimes.”

“I’ve noticed.” Henry looks at Lacie, still sitting with her back to them.  _Liar,_  she had called him. He wonders if Joey and himself were the same in her mind.

There’s a scratching noise at the door along with some loud squeaking. Lacie moves her head so it’s facing back towards the door as Henry and Allison exchange a look.

“Careful.”

“Yeah, I know,” Henry grunts as he shoves the board aside enough to peek out. A Striker stands in the hallway on all sixes, watching him intently.

“Uh… hi,” he offers, slightly unnerved by the thing’s human eye. It stands up on two legs, the teeth on its head chattering softly. If this was the same Edgar he had met earlier, it certainly wasn’t acting like it - the feral disposition it had sported was completely gone, replaced with what was either curiosity or fear.

“Do you… want to come in?” Henry ventures, nudging the door aside enough for the spider to slip through. It does so, dropping back down onto six limbs as it sneaks in, watching Henry as if it expected him to try to attack him any second.

“You sure this is safe? We haven’t exactly had a good record with these guys,” Allison points out, rubbing Boris’ back as he cowers in fear on top of the table. Lacie makes an irritated-sounding garbled noise from her spot in the corner and Edgar quickly darts over, joining her on the cot. She gives him a small scratch on the side of the head, avoiding his second pair of teeth.

“I think it’s fine.” Henry watches the two for a moment, then goes over to the bag of items that he had taken from Joey’s apartment. He pulls out a Rubik’s cube, the bold colors sticking out in their sepia environment, and sets it on the floor. “You want to play with this? It’s a toy. Try to get the colors on one side.” He slides it across the floor with his foot and the Striker grabs it with its extending arm, turning it over in three hands.

“That’ll keep him occupied for a bit.”

“Smart,” Allison remarks. Henry turns his attention back to Lacie, who had moved her head at some point so that she was once again staring at him.

“I’m gong to try to smooth things out with her.”

“Good luck,” Allison offers. “I’ll try to get Boris to get off the table.”

Allison turns her attention to the cowering wolf while Henry walks over to the cot, kneeling on the floor so he’s closer to her eye level. Edgar scampers away from him, retreating into the far corner of the room with his toy.

“Are you okay?” he asks Lacie, not really expecting an answer. “I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

_“Wasn’t scared,”_  she rasps, with an edge to her voice that suggested he should drop it.

“Right. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m not going to force you to do anything. I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

Lacie remains quiet, and he stands up from the floor.

_“Now.”_

He pauses, turning back, not sure if he heard that right. “What?”

_“Do it now,”_ she growls, turning her back to him.

He stands there surprised for a moment, trying to process what he just heard. “Are you sure?”

She’s silent for a while, evidently still thinking it over.  _“Yes”_ , she finally utters.

“Well, I’ll need to find Tom and have him set up the Ink Machine. So I guess I’ll do… that,” he offers awkwardly, quickly dismissing himself. He finds Tom a few hallways down, leaning against a wall.

“When Shawn gets that ink maker of him set up, tell him to make some damn cigars,” he grumbles.

“Lacie agreed to the ritual just now,” Henry states, ignoring the comment. “What the hell did you say to get her to do that?”

Tom only shrugs. “The truth, I guess.”

* * *

It takes a while, but Henry finally manages to locate something of Lacie’s in Joey’s stuff - a small memo announcing the progress of some Bendy Land attractions. He passes it off to Tom to use in the Machine, then gets to work on drawing the pentagram. Most ink creatures weren’t interested in watching, but that not the case with Lacie, who was inspecting every brush stroke.

“Here,” he offers, passing Joey’s notes over to her. “Make sure I’m doing it right.” It was a pointless request - he already had the pattern memorized by heart now - but he had a feeling it might make the mechanic feel less on edge.

He finishes the symbol with Lacie’s approval. She pulls the ribbon from her pocket and tosses it to him, Henry nearly failing to catch it as it drifts through the air.

“I’ll give it to you later,” he promises, backing away - if she felt he wasn’t much different than Joey, then keeping his distance from the pentagram was probably a good idea. “Don’t force yourself into it. There’s no rush.”

The Fisher paces around the symbol twice, inspecting it, then stands completely still for a bit as if she was bracing herself. Finally she steps forward, letting out a startlingly human-sounding scream as her body melts away. Henry forces himself to let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, running over to the garage.

“What’s going on?” he asks as he approaches.

“Nothin’, yet,” Shawn points out. Normally the Machine started churning out ink immediately, but the room was dead silent, the air still.

“I thought you were supposed to still be in the infirmary,” Allison chastises.

“I’m not gonna leave Lacie alone! Besides, I’m fully rested,” the Irishman retorts, looking like he was struggling to stay awake.

“Is that normal?” he asks Tom, ignoring the two’s bickering.

“Happened like that the first time,” he says vaguely.

Henry jumps as the Machine roars to like while Thomas just stands there, unflinching. A thick mass emerges amongst the flood of regular ink, which wreathes around on the floor, trying to refine itself into something. He watches, transfixed, even though he doesn’t want to - in a way, he feels like he owes everyone that much.

The ink refines itself down into individual features - curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, a long nose, broad shoulders. Lacie starts screaming as soon as she forms a mouth, though whether it’s out of pain or fear or both isn’t clear. Allison runs over to her as the ink parts to reveal skin, Shawn quickly following.

“Is she all right?”

“I think she’s in shock,” Allison replies firmly, pulling light yellow hair away from the woman’s face. The screaming had stopped, but she was lying on the floor, breathing in short gasps.

“Lacie girl, it’s okay. Snap out of it!” Shawn reaches over, gently shaking her ink-stained shoulder.

Thomas finally reaches the group, Henry trailing behind him. “Here, move her onto her side,” Tom instructs, reaching out towards her.

“Stay the Hell away from me!” Lacie abruptly jerks upward, kicking out and slamming a newly-formed boot into the mechanic’s face. Allison rushes to Tom’s side while Shawn grabs Lacie’s arms, holding them behind her back and pulling her away from the man.

“Tom, are you okay? Here, let me see.” Allison attempts to move the mechanic’s hand away as he clutches his face, swearing.

“Goddamn it, I’m fine. Just bruised me,” he growls, removing his hand to reveal a steady stream of ink running from his nose. Allison chastises him, pulling a rag from her belt as she starts to tend to the wound.

Henry wanders over to Lacie, unsure of what to do. Her response to Tom seemed to have snapped her out of her shock, and she watches him from the corner of her eye as the animator crouches down beside her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine! Get off of me,” she demands, and Shawn obediently removes his grip on her arms. She attempts to stand, nearly falling, and Shawn grabs her again for support. She casts her gaze towards Tom, but doesn’t seem to be interested in offering an apology.

“Everyone should get down to the infirmary,” Allison directs. Tom was still bleeding, Shawn looked exhausted, and Lacie looked like she might pass out at any second.

“Uh… yeah. Do that,” Henry mumbles as everyone else gets up, feeling completely useless. He jogs to catch back up with the others as they reenter the studio but hangs back, trailing behind the group. Lacie slows her pace, joining him.

“Here’s your ribbon.” Henry hands it back to her and Lacie takes it, removing her hair tie and knotting the ribbon into a makeshift ponytail holder in its place. 

“Purple’s my favorite color. I haven’t seen it in a long time,” she says in way of explanation. Henry nods, pretending to understand. He had always been colorblind, even before the studio - the supposedly purple ribbon looked more like a dull blue to him.

She meets his eyes for a second, then looks away. He notices for the first time that one of her eyes is still missing, an empty eye socket with a small yellow X in its place.

“Sorry for attackin’ you earlier,” she drawls. “And for sayin’ you were as bad as Joey. That ain’t true.”

“I don’t think you ever said that.”

“It’s what I was thinkin’, and you know it.” Henry trudges along, unable to think of a retort. “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. If you need anythin’, just ask.”

“If you don’t mind… I’d like to talk to you later. After you’ve rested.”

“Don’t need to rest,” she objects, clearly struggling to stay conscious. “But sure, we can talk.” She picks up her pace to rejoin Shawn, leaving Henry behind.


End file.
